


What We Mean (Definitions)

by bravest_person_in_Wonderland



Category: Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: F/M, no names but y'all can figure it out, sort of meta, they're my babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest_person_in_Wonderland/pseuds/bravest_person_in_Wonderland
Summary: How they think of each other.
Relationships: Eighth Doctor/Charley Pollard
Kudos: 6





	What We Mean (Definitions)

She was golden light, the soft warmth of a lamp in a sitting room; she was corduroy and tall boots and adventure and home. She was the gentle fierceness in those big grey eyes, the determination and bravery and love unparalleled. She was the way her blonde hair fell into her face because she didn’t care to do anything with it and how she would scowl and push the strands out of the way when they aggravated her. She was the dichotomy of how she said “love, not anger,” but could get so angry. She was a rock, steady and immovable and level-headed; she was an anchor when there was nowhere to anchor, a conscience when there was no reference of morals except what was contained in her human mind. She was the stubbornness that brought her here, the caring heart that would comfort others when it was she who was shattering the most. She wasn’t supposed to exist, but did so with a grace and sass unique to herself. She was everything.

He was sweet smiles and velvet chuckles that matched his jacket and the sense that everything would be alright as long as he was there. He was hope and dreams and love and there was fire in his icy eyes. He was forgotten teacups and honey and the silly books he read. He was the sound of his voice when he was excited, the touch of his hands when the world was falling apart. He was those soft curls that bounced with the spring in his step and the look on his face that meant home. He was a sailboat adrift on a sea with his heart on his sleeve and no clue where he was going. His head was in the clouds most of the time, his dreams guiding him anywhere, everywhere, nowhere. He was worth giving up everything; the beating of his hearts set the pace for a step of blind trust and love because there was no life without him. He was everything.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this mentally one night when I was half-asleep and somehow remembered it all in the morning. XD


End file.
